


and you don't know why

by blenderfullasarcasm



Series: Misc Oneshots [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ...just not the theme songs, America can sing, America is trying, Gen, Sick Character, Singing, america can sing country songs don't @ me, but things happen, no beta we die on the hill of poor decisions, sick!England, they were going to watch doctor strange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 19:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blenderfullasarcasm/pseuds/blenderfullasarcasm
Summary: “Jesus, England! You're burning up!”England manages a half-hearted haughty sniff in response, which would probably have gone better had his sinuses been anything approaching clear. He sincerely hopes that he won't end up with another burger on his head, courtesy of the farce that is the American healthcare system.





	and you don't know why

“Hey, England! Are you ready to watch Doctor Strange? It's really - wait. England?”

  
England groans and tries to bury his pounding head deeper into his pillow to block out the shrill noisiness emanating from near his doorway.

  
“Hey, are you listening to me?”

  
England steels himself, gathering energy sluggishly until he can sit up and blink blearily. His eyes focus - more or less - on the United States of America waving around a DVD case. “Oh, right. That was today,” He mutters, voice hoarse and catching a little. His vision swims for a moment - “England! Are you okay?!” - and perhaps he blacks out for a moment because the next thing he knows is lying flat on his bed.

  
A hand brushes through his sweaty bangs before being yanked away as though burnt. “Jesus, England! You're burning up!” America's voice is softer now, and England can't say he isn't grateful but he'll never admit it out loud. He manages a half-hearted haughty sniff in response, which would probably have gone better had his sinuses been anything approaching clear. He sincerely hopes that he won't end up with another burger on his head, courtesy of the farce that is the American healthcare system.

  
America snorts. “Yeah, yeah. There isn't much I can do about this, so I guess we'll have to take a rain check on movie night.” There's a faint note of regret or disappointment - England can't actually tell which right now, and fears he's becoming a bit delirious because it sounds like... almost like America's speaking in his old accent, England's accent. But that's impossible because America had firmly distanced himself from anything remotely British centuries ago.

  
(England can't deny that the timbre of America's voice is somewhat soothing, especially when he speaks as he did _before_.)

  
“Hmm.” America makes a noise, slightly closer than expected, before England feels a cold, damp cloth cover his forehead. He twitches slightly in surprise, but doesn't lash out like he might have if he hadn't had the warning. Fingers push back his sweaty bangs once more before retreating. The bed dips a little where America presumably sits down next to him, swinging his feet up with a second, softer thump.

  
England vaguely recognises the movements from somewhere, but his head is too foggy to remember it properly.

  
“Try to sleep, ‘kay?” America mutters uncharacteristically soft and quiet, before a hand is running through his hair again. England pushes towards the movement mostly unconsciously, the contrasting coolness feeling lovely against his boiling scalp.

  
“You used to do this for me, remember?” America mutters under his breath, barely stronger than a whisper. England isn't sure he's meant to hear it.  
America continues, still pleasantly quiet enough to almost be white noise: “You'd tuck me 'n Mattie into our bed when we were sick, then you'd stay with us until the fever broke. Sometimes you'd talk to us, sometimes you'd sing. We never really got to repay you for that. Well, I never did. Mattie probably did at some point. He's the good brother anyway - oh. I should probably try the singing, shouldn't I?”

  
England hides a cringe. America's singing isn't anywhere close to the best, but he was trying. England could live with aching ears for one night. He braces himself for the truly awful techno that is currently America's favourite.

  
But then he starts talking again. This time, it's clear that America's muttering to himself: “Pop tunes won't really work right now, and he hates techno. Rock probably isn't the best thing for sleep either.” He sighs, seems to gather his courage, then begins.  
England barely manages to hide the tensing in his shoulders as America opens his mouth to start.

 _Well, you know they say all good things_  
_Must come to some kind of ending_  
_We were so damn good, I guess we never stood a chance_

It's a country song, England realises faintly, shoulders relaxing. America's voice isn't nearly as bad as he remembers - he wonders if America has been hiding this...talent on purpose (because it certainly sounds soothing and, dare he say it, even...pleasant). His usual singing voice is closer to shouting or a failure of auto tune.

 _Gonna find what you've been missin'_  
_When that highway’s tired a’ listenin'_  
_You'll see I'm not that easy to forget_

He's pleasantly surprised, really. Especially since America's not bothering with an instrumental, making it even harder to get the tuning right.  
It's even entirely possible that England could end up drifting off to America's voice.

 _When a new moon shines through your window_  
_Or you hear a sad song on the radio_  
_And you don't know why, but you just start to cry_

He'd never say anything of the sort, of course...

 _Or you're drivin’ ‘round on a sunny day_  
_And outta nowhere comes the pouring rain_  
_Then a memory hits you right out of the blue_

  
But it is, quite honestly, the most relaxed England's felt in decades, if not centuries - despite his fever and general sickness - and he finds himself drifting off swiftly to the soothing notes and the soft strokes of his hair.

 _It's just me_  
_Thinking of you_

He really has missed this.

 _That's just me_  
_Thinking of you_

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking of You - Christian Kane
> 
>  
> 
> I have no idea how to tag, in case you didn't notice. Suggestions are welcome.


End file.
